


Damage Control

by exbex



Category: due South
Genre: Episode Related, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 17:50:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exbex/pseuds/exbex





	Damage Control

Ray manages to convince Fraser to both stay the night at his apartment and swallow some aspirin before he goes to sleep, and tells him that he has to go see someone. Fraser nods and very politely does not pry, and Ray figures that that’s Buddies, and then forces himself not to speed to Stella’s apartment.

He knocks on her door and then fidgets until she opens it. She seems a little surprised to see him. “I thought you wouldn’t want to come over,” she says.

“It’s a tough anniversary, and I don’t want you to be alone.” Ray winces inwardly, wondering if everything that comes out of his mouth is going to sound like a really lame and boorish attempt to hit on her.

“Thank you,” she says without a hint of irony or forced good nature, and it’s Ray’s turn to be surprised.

She’s been crying just a little, but she hasn’t been drinking, not even the glass of wine he knows she allows herself most nights. He follows her to the sofa and lets her lean on his shoulder, knees drawn up to her chest.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you the other day,” she says.

“Don’t be,” Ray answers. “I was being an idiot, a jerk.”

“Yeah, a little,” Stella says. “But things haven’t exactly been easy for you lately either.” She gives his arm a squeeze.

Stella doesn’t get out old photo albums, and she doesn’t talk about her parents. She does pull out a dusty box of tree ornaments, and, although there’s no evergreen to hang them on, Ray helps her take them out of boxes and place them in interesting places around her apartment. When they’re finished she helps him make up a bed on the sofa, and Ray’s fitful dreams are full of Stella’s eyelashes covered in snow and teardrops, Warfield’s sneer, Fraser’s voice telling him disjointed stories about caribou, and the sounds of tires squealing on ice and pavement.

Hours later, Ray makes coffee for both of them, prepares Stella’s the way she likes it, and then drives her to the cemetery. He stands a respectful distance away while she spends some time at the graves. It’s cold, and he’s losing feeling in his toes, but he’s not sitting in the car and leaving her alone.

Stella squeezes his arm when they get back into the car, her own silent gesture of thanks, and they ride in silence. It’s not until he walks her back to her door that she turns and fixes him with what he has always thought of as her bullshit-proof look. Still, he’s a little surprised at the words that come out of her mouth: “Merry Christmas, Ray. And look, if he doesn’t see what’s right in front of him, he’s an idiot, okay?”

Ray wants to protest, but Stella just gives him a sad little smile, and it occurs to him that there’s no hiding anything from her, so he kisses her on the cheek and heads back to the car.

He lets the engine warm up longer than he actually needs to, trying to piece together disjointed thoughts.

**

Fraser has a cup of tea and the newspaper on the coffee table before him, Dief curled up beside him. He gives Ray a questioning look. “Is…everything alright, Ray?”

“Yeah,” Ray replies, and then decides that being cryptic is dumb when you have someone as trustworthy as Fraser in front of you. “It was Stella. Her parents died on Christmas a couple of years ago. I was just…there. Gave her a lift to the cemetery.”

Fraser’s nod seems understanding. Ray walks to the sofa and tucks a hand beneath Fraser’s chin, tilting his face up so that Ray can examine the cuts and bruises left by Warfield’s goons. He’s not sure why he feels the need; Fraser’s fine, Fraser’s always fine. That Ray can see anyway. But maybe that’s the problem, Ray thinks. I can’t really see.

Fraser shifts uncomfortably and Ray pulls his hands away.

“This is nothing compared to what Ma Vecchio will do if we don’t make it to Mass and Christmas dinner,” Ray finally says, reluctantly pulling his hand away.

Fraser smiles. “Truer words have never been spoken.” 

**

They light candles for Vecchio in Church, and go back to the Vecchio house for dinner. Ray is distracted from his tangled thoughts by the simultaneously exhilarating and overwhelming Vecchio family atmosphere, but his mind wanders back afterward, as he’s driving both Fraser and himself back to the apartment hours later. He doesn’t know what Fraser and Vecchio had going on before Vecchio went undercover, knows nothing of the partnership at all except for Fraser’s stories. Ray is not the kind of guy to go stomping all over sacred ground, and Fraser is not the kind of man to reveal all of himself, so Ray stews, in spite of Stella’s frank words resonating in his head.

Later that evening they watch It’s a Wonderful Life, sitting closer than is strictly necessary to one another on the sofa. Ray watches Fraser more than he watches the film, and tries to gather the courage to ask the necessary question.

Fraser knows everything about me, so there’s no way I can make myself look any worse than I already have. Unless he gets offended by the question. But he won’t, cause he’s not a bigot. But if I ask him, and he says yes, or no and I ask the second question, and he says no, then it could change things between us, for the bad. Or maybe not, because I can always make it seem like I’m just a concerned friend. Which I am, so it’s not like I’d be lying. Just…keeping a secret. 

Ray’s not a patient man, but seeing as he’s been waiting for months, he figures he can stand the twenty minutes until the film wraps up.

“Frase,” he says as the credits are finally rolling, and Fraser turns his entire attention to him. “Yes, Ray?”

“Look, um…” he huffs a breath. “Are you-carrying a torch for Vecchio?”

Fraser looks as if he’s trying to parse the phrase. “Oh,” he says when he pieces it together. “No, Ray, not as such.”

Okay, that’s good. Except it’s suddenly the most terrifying prospect in his life, to tell Fraser how he feels. He buys himself some time.

“Fraser, are you gay?”

Fraser doesn’t flinch, just holds Ray’s gaze. “Bisexual.”

Ray clears his throat. The worst that can happen is that they never speak of it again, nothing ever changes, but suddenly the weight of that possibility is heavy and devastating.

But Fraser is looking at him expectantly, and Ray figures it’s now or never. He feels as if his throat is stuck, like the words got tangled up with his tongue, so he just reaches over and takes Fraser’s hand in his, giving it a light squeeze. “Um, yeah, me too.”

He lets out a long, relieved breath when Fraser squeezes his hand back. When they catch each other’s eyes, they both laugh in disbelief, but they don’t let go.

“So,” Ray finally breaks the silence that follows, “you have any plans for Boxing Day?”

Fraser smiles. “No, Ray. But I gather that you have some in mind?”

Ray grins. “Yeah. I don’t know how exciting they’ll be, considering I’m a little…out of practice.”

Fraser looks slightly embarrassed. “Well, you wouldn’t be alone in that, I’m afraid.”

Ray stands so quickly that he nearly smacks his shins on the coffee table. “There’s only one thing to do Frase. Practice, practice, and more practice. Let’s go.” He strides to the coatrack by the door and tosses Fraser his jacket and a pair of gloves, before shrugging into his own. Fraser knits his eyebrows together in confusion, but follows.

The snow is fresh, clean. Ray squeezes it, letting some escape through his fingers, packs the rest into a perfect ball. He looks up from his hands and smirks at Fraser before lobbing it at him.

Sometimes their duet is tandem; sometimes it’s more like a dance. Fraser turns on a dime, scoops up snow without missing a beat, and lobs his own snowballs back at Ray.

Ray’s laughing harder than he has in months, and Fraser is giving him that grin, the one that breaks through when Fraser is trying for propriety but failing. The snow’s still falling softly, like everyone always wants it to on Christmas and like it never actually does. Ray loses traction and takes a spill, catching himself just enough so that he doesn’t slam hard into the sidewalk.

“I’m okay Fraser. I’m not hurt,” Ray is still laughing, and he tries to reassure Fraser, who’s dropping to his knees beside Ray and looking intently at him.

“Hey Frase, it’s okay.” Ray speaks softly, reaching up to gently brush his fingers across Fraser’s cheek.

Fraser takes Ray’s hand without breaking eye contact. He carefully pulls the glove off and slowly takes two of Ray’s fingers into his mouth. His eyes close and there’s a strange look on his face that Ray can’t quite decipher. It’s possibly the weirdest moment of Ray’s life, and when Fraser removes the fingers and intertwines them with his own, leaning down to capture Ray’s mouth in a kiss, it’s surreal. 

The snow is cold and wet, seeping through Ray’s jeans, the kiss is tentative and awkward, Ray has no idea what’s going on inside of Fraser’s head, no idea where they’re going, but it’s completely, surprisingly, okay.

He’s shivering a moment later though, and when he stands, there’s pain in parts of his body that he suspects he wouldn’t have felt ten years ago.

“Are you alright Ray?” Fraser’s knitting his eyebrows together in his worried look.

“Yeah,” Ray peers inquisitively at Fraser. “What about you?”

“There are some things…that I should probably talk to you about.” Fraser’s eyes are weary, but they seem hopeful, too.

“Whatever you need,” Ray replies, then gasps when he takes a step and pain shoots through his lower back.

Fraser reaches for him, quickly. “Slowly Ray.”

“Yeah,” Ray says, “no objections here.”

Fraser leaves a supporting arm around Ray and Ray places a hand on Fraser’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze as they slowly make their way back to the building.


End file.
